Stolen Moments
by Niobe563
Summary: What happens after Fitz and Olivia spend their first night together? (Takes place after season 1 episode 6: The Trail)
1. Chapter 1

The room is silent save for the sound of Fitz breathing. His arms are wrapped possessively around me, his legs entangled with mine. I relish it. Every inhale and exhale, every chest hair that caresses my back. In my wildest dreams, I never thought this would happen. I've met strong, powerful men before; loved strong, powerful men before. But I never thought I would meet anyone like Fitz—strong, powerful, yet so honest and so…vulnerable. His confession on the bus rocked me to my core. I admitted to myself that I had feelings for him some time ago, and I dared to think he did for me. But never did I imagine his feelings were so potent. Never did I imagine a few hours later we would be lying in the same bed together, our bodies finally sated and still after making love. Never did I imagine I would cross such a sacred line.

When I touched his hand, though, I knew I was unlocking something deep inside myself, something that had been waiting to be set free. I wanted to be his lover. I wanted him to be on top of me, underneath me, inside me. I wanted his body to quiver, his lips to be raw, his skin to burn at my touch. But more than that, I wanted to take his anguish away, heal him, put the broken pieces back together. I wanted to give him hope. I wanted to _be_ his hope.

And when he came, whispering "Liv" in pure, unadulterated ecstasy, I knew that I was. And I knew that he was mine.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm staring at the nightstand clock and 2:33am is staring back at me. I should go. I don't want to, but the risk of me staying much longer is too great. I turn over slowly, creating the first separation between Fitz and myself in hours. As I face him, he reaches out for me, even in sleep anxious to close the distance.

"Fitz," I say. "Fitz, I have to go." I'm not sure he hears me so I say it again. "I have to go."

His eyes blink open, confusion crossing his face. "Is it time to get up?" he murmurs.

"No, not yet. But I have to go before it gets too late. Someone could see me leaving your room. Besides, you need to get what rest you can. You'll be exhausted tomorrow."

"I sleep better with you here."

Oh, this isn't going to be easy. I sit up, hoping to avoid what I feel like is going to be an argument. Fitz's eyes follow me and even in the dark, I can feel them drinking me in.

"Don't," he says, pulling me towards him. "We still have time."

"We have to be up at 5:00. You can get a couple of good hours before then."

He blinks a few more times and sighs. "Okay. I'll let you go on one condition." I raise my eyebrow at this. "Stay with me tonight."

"Fitz, we have to be careful. If anyone knew I was here—"

He sits up now, fully awake, his hands resting on my arms. "Liv, please. When you came into my room, I thought, okay, one time and I'll get it out of my system and I'll be fine. But it's not enough. Once wasn't enough. I haven't kissed you enough. I haven't touched you enough. I haven't heard you say my name enough."

I'm steeling myself against this emotional onslaught and it's killing me. I want nothing more to stay with him again, but it's playing with fire. "One more night isn't going to fix that."

His grip loosens slowly and a wounded look fills his eyes. Oh, shit. I've hurt him. "One night was enough for you?" he whispers.

"No, no, of course not. But I can't. I can't fool myself into thinking that anything's going to change because we had sex."

Fitz releases me completely and pain has clearly seeped into the lines on his face. "This wasn't just sex to me, Olivia. You have to know that."

"I do know that. I do." I'm so torn. I know he understands how hard this must be for me; he just can't right now. And I can't give in. What we did was…wrong. He's married. He's running for president for God's sake.

"Then…you don't feel the same about wanting to spend another night together?"

Now it's my turn to sigh. "Yes, I do. But, Fitz, I can't want this. You're right about the one night thing. I told myself that too. It's one night and after that I'll be fine. I want nothing more than to stay here with you until 5:00. Hell, stay here until 9:00 or 10:00. Until tomorrow for that matter. Forget the prayer breakfast. Forget the fact that I'm on a campaign and you're running for president of the United States. But I can't do that. I have a job to do. And my job is to get you elected—no matter what." I force myself to get out of bed and start searching for my clothes. If I'm going to leave, now's the time, before the sight of him naked entices me stay.

"No matter what, huh?" His words are biting. "So you don't get to feel anything? You don't get to relax, to let someone who cares about you hold you, caress you, make love to you? When was the last time you let someone in, Olivia?"

I've found my pants and abruptly stop fastening them to turn to him. He's struck a nerve. A big ass nerve. "You're missing the point," I snap.

"No, I'm not. You want to make this about me being married. Fine, I'm married. But that fact is you came here last night because you wanted to. And you want to tonight but you won't let yourself. Because emotion is a sign of weakness, right? That's how you've gotten through life. That works for running a campaign but it makes for a lousy personal life."

I'm apoplectic now and fighting the urge to pick up the lamp at my feet and throw it at his head. "And just when I think you weren't listening to me during our debate prep. Deflect and rephrase the question." I decide to keep going when he doesn't disagree. "You don't get it, do you? I thought you did but you don't. There's nothing for me here. There's last night and maybe tonight and that's it. You _are_ married. I can pretend all I want. We can have all the 'one minutes' we want. But it doesn't change the fact that I am here to get you elected president. That's it. Nothing more."

Fitz has gotten out of bed too and put on his pants. He's crossed the room and is standing in front of me. "Do you really believe that? Do you really believe the only reason you're in my life right now is to help me become president? Because I beg to differ. You're here to change my life. Make me see things differently. Maybe even give me the life I always wanted."

I'm almost stunned silent. I don't know where he's going with this. "I thought you wanted to be president."

"So did I. But maybe…maybe other things are more important."

"Like what?"

"Like love."

"Then why didn't we meet sooner?" I retort.

"If I wasn't running for president, would we have ever met?" he counters. And if he wasn't running for president, would he be the man that I care for? Love? Fitz's hands are on my shoulders again and he's so close I can hardly stand straight. "Stay with me tonight, Olivia."

I shake my head, trying to clear it of the crazy thoughts I'm having. The thoughts that say I won't be here until 5:00 if I only reach out and touch his chest, if I only lean up and give him a little kiss; that I won't get my heart ripped out if I let this continue. "I'll think about it." And I grab my suitcases and head for the door. "Be on the bus at 5:30."

"Yes, ma'am."

I check the hallway carefully before I leave and I know, defying good sense, that Fitz is watching me in the muted light, because his door doesn't close until I open mine.


	3. Chapter 3

Love. The word rattles around in my head all day. I look at Fitz over and over, as he bows his head at the prayer breakfast, as he glad-hands, as he gets on and off the bus at our next stops in town, as he eats, as he drinks, as he makes one campaign supporter nearly faint by waving to her and another sign up on the spot when he tells him of wanting to be president since he was a little boy.

Love. Is that what this is between us? Maybe it's just lust. Maybe he's in lust with me and can't tell the difference. And me? Maybe I'm just in lust with him. I'm contemplating this for the thousandth time as we sit down in the hotel restaurant. It's just after 6:30 and I'm starving. Cyrus is pouring over the menu and Fitz is heading to the bathroom. My eyes follow him instinctively, a smile threatening to cross my lips at the notion that I now know what he looks like naked. And his ass is as beautiful as everything else on his body. Lust. Yes, that must be it.

"I think we've got ourselves a winner," Cyrus says, not looking up from the menu.

"Hmm?" I've barely heard him.

"Fitz. I think we've got a winner. Did you see those crowds today? They love him."

"I did see those crowds today and I think we do have a winner. But we've got a long way to go and Langston isn't backing down."

"That's why that prayer breakfast this morning was so perfect. We're targeting the base, her base."  
"Oh, yes, that 6 a.m. prayer breakfast." Fitz joins us at the table. "Now whose brilliant idea was that?"

"That would be mine," I say, smiling.

"Because you are brilliant."

"I told you." Cyrus still hasn't looked up from the menu. He doesn't see Fitz staring at me. I catch myself staring back and quickly turn to my menu.

"And it was so brilliant that I am now completely exhausted and headed for bed."

"So early?" Cyrus asks, finally looking up.

"Yes. I'll order room service if I get hungry later." I try to hide my disappointment. Fitz hasn't mentioned anything about staying the night again and I wonder if he's given up on the idea. Of course, we haven't really had a chance to talk anything but campaign crap since the sun came up. It's been balls to the walls, event after event, speech after speech. "Olivia, Cyrus, enjoy your evening. Oh, I almost forget. A staffer asked me to give this to you." Fitz takes an envelope out of his shirt pocket and hands it to me. A moment later, he's gone.

I'm perplexed. I've been with the staff most of the day; what could be so important that I have a message delivered in an envelope? Why didn't someone call me on my cell? I tear it open and read the note inside immediately.

_My room, 7:00. Don't eat anything. F._

I re-fold the note and put it back in the envelope before Cyrus looks up again. "I need to go take care of this," I say.

"Something wrong?"

"No, I just have to talk someone off the campaign ledge. You know how these staffers are. 48 hours with hardly any sleep can dampen the enthusiasm."

"That it can."

"I'm sorry to leave you." I stand and gather my purse.

"Don't worry about it. I actually think a nice quiet dinner is exactly what I need. Or you may be talking me off the campaign ledge tomorrow."

I smile and put my hand on Cyrus's shoulder. He hired me for this gig. For all intents and purposes, I have him to blame. Or to thank, depending on how I look at it. I haven't decided how I look at all of this yet. One minute I'm elated that I've found Fitz, the next I'm dejected for the same reason. The next I'm angry at myself for letting this happen in the first place. Right now, I'm angry because Fitz handing me the note in front of Cyrus could've been disastrous.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you crazy?" I say once Fitz locks the door. "Giving me a note like that in front of Cyrus?"

"I didn't have a choice. I hadn't been alone with you all day."

"I had to make up something on the spot," I protest.

"Liv, you make up something on the spot all day long. It's called campaign management."

"That's not the point and you know it. Fitz, you're taking unnecessary risks."

"I disagree. I think you're a necessary risk."

This is getting us nowhere. I shake my head and then notice that the only light in the room is being generated by two tapered candles in silver holders on a round table next to the window. The table is dressed in peach-colored linen, and two covered dishes sit while wine chills in an ice bucket.

"Is this why you told me not to eat?"

"Uh huh." Fitz comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me, nuzzling my ear. All the anger I feel dissipates instantly. "I didn't want you to ruin your surprise."

"Fitz, it's beautiful."

"You're beautiful." He places a kiss at my temple. "Shall we sit?"

I nod and he leads to me the table, pulling out my chair. He then sits down across from me. "What's for dinner?"

"Chilean sea bass. One of your favorites, I believe."

I'm shocked. I'm sure I mentioned that in one of the many conversations we've had over the past few weeks but I didn't think it...mattered. "Yes."

"I pay attention." Fitz is smirking now, obviously very pleased with himself.

"I see."

"Wine?"

"Please." He proceeds to pour white wine into my glass and then his. "The hotel must've thought this was for you and Mellie." The words come out of my mouth before I realize I've said them. Something flickers in Fitz's eyes in response and he eases the bottle back in to the ice bucket.

"I told them it was for the woman I love," he answers firmly, looking directly at me. The intensity of his look almost makes me shrink in my seat.

"There's that word again," I whisper.

"What word?"

"Love. You said it last night, well, earlier this morning. You said it at the debate, that you were in love. I remember you looked straight at me after you said it, and I thought…I thought you meant you were in love with me. I thought I was hallucinating."

"And now you know you weren't. Do you want me to say it? Do you _need_ me to say it?"

"Say what?"

"That I love you."

I sit silently for a moment. I don't know if I do or not. Because once he says it, it's real. "I've been thinking about this all day." Who's deflecting and re-phrasing now?

"About what?"

"Whether this is love or lust."

"Olivia, you're the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think about at night. My day isn't complete until I've seen you, heard your voice, seen you smile. That's not lust." Fitz sighs and sits back in his chair. "I've been thinking about _this_ all day. Doing something special for you. Wanting to show you how much I love you."

Tears well in my eyes at this latest revelation. That's happened a lot over the past 24 hours. I remember the well of my tears from last night on the bus when I touched his hand; tears from the fear and relief of knowing that he felt the same way about me as I did about him. I remember the well of my tears when he entered me for the first time and then again when I came, tears from the happiness of my body utterly and exquisitely surrounding him, from my heart bursting completely open.

He's right: that's not lust.

And he's right again: as much as I cursed him for pointing it out this morning, I haven't let anyone in in a very long time. I haven't depended on anyone, needed anyone, wanted anyone. Not like this. I can't help but feel this emotion. Fitz brings it out of me, in some inexplicable way.

"Do you want me to say it?" I ask finally. "Do you _need _me to say it?"

"No. I know. Eat. Your dinner's going to get cold."


	5. Chapter 5

We eat in silence except for the occasional "this is really good" and "more wine?" After weeks

on the campaign trail and weeks of only being with him with sometimes fifty, sometimes hundreds, sometimes thousands of other people in the room, the silence is amazing. It's just us. The rest of the world has ceased to exist.

"So, what else have you been thinking about today?" I ask, anxious to know what he'll say.

Fitz leans back in his chair and rests his head on the high back. He's looking at me intently when he responds. "Poetry."

"Poetry?"

He nods. "Do you know Pablo Neruda?"

"Yes. Chilean poet. I'm sensing a theme here."

He smiles wistfully. "I was 19-20, taking this lit class in college. And the teacher reads us one of his poems.

_I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair._

_ Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets._

_ Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day_

_ I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps._

There's more, I know. I don't remember the rest. I just remember thinking, when I meet the woman I feel that way about I'm going to marry her. My parents were married for years. I'd like to think there was love at one time, probably for the first few years. I wanted something different. I wanted to be married 20 years later and still be in love. And I dated and dated. But I didn't find the one. And then something called life got in the way. And something called wanting to please my father got in the way. And Mellie came along and well, that's history." He takes a sip of wine and swallows slowly. "So I was thinking about that poem today. That's how I feel about you."

I'm touched, beyond words. "You did a lot of thinking today."

"Well, I had some time. You know, the reverend prayed for 30 minutes and I think after the first 15 he prayed us all into Heaven so I figured I had some time to spare."

I burst out laughing at this, remembering the good reverend and how I too thought his prayer would never end. Fitz is laughing with me and I realize how much I love his laugh. How much I love him. "So…what else did you think about today?"

"Wanting to see you naked by candle light."

"Please tell me you waited until after we left the church to think about that."

"I told you, I figured I had time to spare."

I shake my head and laugh again. I know he's serious, though, about wanting to see me naked by candle light. And suddenly I'm serious about wanting to see him naked by candle light, about wanting not only to show him, but also tell him how I feel.

The words come to me in rush, and I say them slowly, savoring every one.

"_I hunger for your sleek laugh, _

_Your hands the color of a savage harvest,_

_Hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,_

_I want to eat your skin like a whole almond._

_I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,_

_The sovereign nose of your arrogant face,_

_I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,_

_And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,_

_Hunting for you, for your hot heart,_

_Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue."_

"You know the poem," Fitz says.

"I know the poem, well. I studied a little poetry too when I was in college. I couldn't remember all the words either until just now. I remember the first time I read it, how I wanted to be desired like that. How I wanted _to_ desire someone like that."

"And now you are." Fitz comes toward me and pulls me up from my chair. He brushes his hand across my forehead, my cheek.

I caress his face in turn, run my fingers through his hair. "And now I do. I know you told me earlier that you don't need me to say it, that you knew. But I love you, Fitz. I don't know where we go from here, but I know that I love you."

"Liv…" He crushes his lips to mine and I part them willingly, hungry for everything that he is, everything that he will be.

There's no rush. There's no 6 a.m. prayer breakfast to get ready for, no speeches to edit, no phones to answer. There's just us, and this moment. And I vow, finally, to lose myself in it.


End file.
